


Broken Ring Fingers

by Loserlovely



Series: So Happy Together [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, No Wayward Son Spoilers, Simon has no concept of fashion, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, baz loves him so much, hes lowkey a lovesick wreck this entire fic, no beta reader we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 22:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loserlovely/pseuds/Loserlovely
Summary: "Well, this ought to be fun," Baz sighs."I'm sorry.""Can't take you anywhere, you walking disaster," he says, shaking his head. I can tell he's annoyed, but his voice softens when he says,"I love you.""Love you too, you git."...Simon's plan to propose goes a bit haywire





	Broken Ring Fingers

**Simon**

"I'm not letting you go out like that." 

I scrunch my brows and look into the mirror that hangs beside our wardrobe. "This is how I always look?" 

Baz shakes his head. He's wearing a grey cashmere jumper and expensive black jeans, with a shiny pair of brown oxfords. His hair is down, falling over his shoulders in inky black waves. 

Bloody fucking handsome. 

"This is a date, Snow. We're supposed to dress nice, not like we've just raided a bloody discount bin," he motions at me. 

I glare at him. The truth is, I wouldn't mind getting dressed up for tonight, seeing as how it'll likely be a memorable evening, but he'd know something was up if I put on a suit and tie. He'd see right through my plan to propose.

And, for the record, I  _ have  _ got a plan. I'm not going to wing the one thing that I really  _ can't  _ mess up. I'm taking him to dinner at this stupid posh restaurant he likes, and then I'm going to propose underneath the stars (or at least as many stars that are visible in London.) I've even got a romantic speech planned out that I'm hoping he'll go mad over. Well. Assuming I can make it through the speech without fucking up, that is.

So instead of dressing to the nines, I'm just in a pair of jeans and a black t shirt. So what if there's a few holes at the collar? No one's going to notice. It's early February—I'll be wearing a coat, anyway.

Baz shakes his head and opens his side of our shared wardrobe. Keyword is  _ shared.  _ I don't know what he's on about, 'raiding a discount bin'. He picks out half of my clothes himself.

Prick.

I sigh, plopping myself down on the bed as he starts throwing various articles of clothing at me.

"Your stuff isn't gonna fit me," I point out. 

Baz waves his hand while simultaneously throwing me a mix of both mine and his clothes.

"Go try these on, or I'm not going anywhere with you."

I flip him off as I head for the bathroom to change. I usually don't bother—we change in front of each other all the time now—but if I undress while he's just standing there watching me, we'll never make the dinner reservation I've made for us.

I end up in one of his sinfully expensive jumpers with a canvas jacket over the top of it, jeans, and red converse. This isn't a fancy outfit like he suggested, but I have a hunch that he just gets off on seeing me in his clothes, because when I return, Baz stares at me like this is the first time he's ever seen me. He recovers quickly, but I saw the way he looked at me, that lovesick motherfucker. 

I almost blush. After five years, I  _ still _ blush.

"Better?" 

"Somewhat," he grumbles. "Alright, I'm ready." 

"Let's skedaddle!" I say cheerfully snapping my fingers. (He fucking hates that word. I make a point to say it every time we leave the flat.)

Baz mumbles something that sounds vaguely like "gorgeous idiot" as we walk out the door, and it makes me smile. 

  
  


**Baz**

We take an taxi to the restaurant, because I can't fucking stand the tube. Neither of us talk on the way there. We just hold hands. 

I love holding Simon Snow's hand. Even though it gets sweaty rather fast, which is disgusting, I like to enjoy the time before it gets uncomfortable. I savor how he likes to squeeze my hand four times exactly whenever I start to stare at him, all soft. 

Fuck, I am  _ so  _ soft with him. It's sickening. I don't even mean to be, but I can't help it. My cold exterior has started to melt after all these years, and it's all thanks to Snow being a bloody space heater 

For the two years or so after we started dating, all we did was hold hands and peck each other on the cheek. When I was lucky, the mouth. It bothered me that we moved at a snails pace, but it was more important to me that he was comfortable in our relationship. 

Now we act like proper boyfriends, even if we're in public.

(We've had instances where people have harassed us for being two blokes, but each time I've had to practically hold Simon back so he didn't break their jaws.) 

I want to be soft with him right now. I want to pull him close and kiss him right in the back of this taxi, but I don't. I want to save as much of the softness as I can for  _ after  _ dinner, so I don't burn out and make a fool of myself. 

I have a reputation to maintain, afterall.

Dinner is divine. I hate eating in public. I almost never do, but the lighting here is dim and we're in a corner, so the only person who can see me is Simon. We end up sharing a meal, because it's big enough for the both of us—and expensive enough. I didn't expect him to take me to this restaurant—it's one of my favorites—because it's far more posh than anything he usually bothers with. Our dates are typically spent at the cinema or somewhere cheap. 

I wonder what's made tonight special.

After dinner, we walk to a nearby park. It's chilly out, but nothing intolerable. The sky is cloudless, but the city lights make sure that we can't see a single star. 

We're almost to the park when Snow, the poor moron, slips and falls on the icy pavement

  
  
  


**Simon**

I've had quite a few tumbles in my time, so I know immediately that I've broken  _ something. _ I caught myself with my hand as I fell, and immediately my right pinky finger was shot through with pain. 

"Jesus  _ Christ!" _ I yelp

"Oh, you  _ fuckwit _ ," Baz giggles at the sight of me. Of course he finds this funny. Of course he's not even concerned for my wellbeing. 

"Are you alright?" He asks, after I've clutched my hand for a second. He offers me a hand up, but I shake my head.

My ass is probably going to get wet from sitting on the ice covered pavement, so I really should stand up, but I'm too preoccupied checking out my fingers. The city lights are giving off enough light that I can tell It's already bruising, light shades of purple and blue blossoming across my hand.

_ Shit _ , does it hurt.

"Here let me—"

" _ Fuck no, _ don't touch it!"

"At least let me cast something on it. It can't be that bad."

I shake my head. "It's broken."

"Merlin,  _ Doctor Snow, _ let's just put a healing spell over it," Baz quips. 

"Piss off, I know what I'm talking about, I  _ know it's broken _ ," I say. I'm not pursuing medical school for this arsehole to tell me I don't know what a broken bone looks like. I have the classic fucking symptoms.

I try to bend it, and a pain sharp as needles shoots through my hand. Spots cover my vision, it's so painful. I don't feel like crying, but tears start to form in my eyes anyway, because this hurts like a  _ motherfucker. _

By now, Baz isn't laughing anymore. My hand is bruised and swelling, and it's starting to go numb a bit. 

"Alright, let's get you to the emergency room," Baz sighs.

"Help me up."

"Yes  _ sir, _ " Baz mocks. 

He casts  ** _Get Well Soon_ ** on it, which makes me want to die a bit less. He keeps doing it the whole taxi ride to the ER after he spells the back seat silent so the cabbie can't hear.

It amazes me sometimes, how good of a magician Baz actually is. It always has. It used to make jealous—sometimes it still does _ — _ how easily magic comes to him. How effortlessly he can produce spells, how fluidly he speaks the phrases. Almost like he's singing. Doesn't change the fact that I hate having spells cast on me, but I guess I'll make an exception for situations like right now, where I'm cursing under my breath like a sailor from the pain.

By the time we get to the ER, my hand is numb from all the spells he cast. I still can't move it, but the pain is down to a dull ache deep in my hand, thanks to the magic.

We check ourselves in at the front desk and the secretary—a woman in her late forties with purple eyeshadow and long blonde hair—tells us that it will be about an hour wait to get checked out at minimum, and if there are any complications after that, it will probably be longer.

Baz looks about ready to punch a hole through the wall, but he sits down next to me in a tattered waiting room chair anyway. His hand finds my good one and he strings his fingers in between mine. I squeeze, and he squeezes back. 

"Well, this ought to be fun," Baz sighs. 

"I'm sorry."

"Can't take you anywhere, you walking disaster," he says, shaking his head. I can tell he's annoyed, but his voice softens when he says,"I love you."

"Love you too, you git."

It's only when we've said our I love you's that I remember that before I slipped, I was going to propose. That I've got a ring box in my pocket  _ right now.  _ And I have no way of going through with my plan now. 

Fuck.

  
  
  


**Baz**

I can't stand this place. 

I don't have much experience with Emergency Rooms, but I've decided I never want to return to one ever again. 

There's a toddler screaming his head off in the corner, and the parents aren't doing shit to stop it. Even though I can't get sick, just knowing about all the germs crawling about in this room makes me want to bathe in hand sanitizer. The fluorescent lights are harsh on my eyes, and I can practically  _ smell _ all the blood in the building. It's overwhelming. It's driving me mad. 

It's  _ six hours _ until we're finally called back. 

Which is absurd, but not surprising. The waiting room was packed. I'm sure the nurses and doctors are slammed and doing everything they can to get everyone seen, but it doesn't lessen my annoyance any. 

"Simon Snow?" 

We both stand and walk back with the nurse, a small girl a bit older than us with curly ginger hair and a high pitched voice. 

Three X-rays later we find out that Simon broke both the pinky finger and ring finger on his right hand. The nurse sends us to another room where they put a red cast on his arm, tells us about caring for it, when we need to come back for a check up, and sends us on our way. 

"What a right carry on that was," I sigh, closing the door to our flat.

I hear Snow make a vague "hmmf" sound as I kick off my shoes and shrug off my coat. 

It's almost one a.m. now, and I want nothing more than to change into pajamas, fall into bed and cuddle Snow. Yes,  _ cuddle, _ because my mood is so shit right now, and that's the only thing that could cheer me up. 

Once we get down the hall to our bedroom, I pull on a hoodie and joggers—both of which are his. Sleeping next to Snow is always gloriously warm, but I still need to bundle in the winter if I don't want to wake up freezing. 

Snow, however, is having a much harder time stripping down. He managed to get his trousers off with little trouble, but his coat is only halfway off, and it's somewhat tangled with his cast. "I need your help."

" _ Merlin.  _ Here, let me—" 

A small velvet box falls out of his coat pocket and onto our carpet with a tiny  _ thud. _

The world freezes. We both stop moving and stare at it, like it's a bomb about to explode. 

"Er, that's uh—that's mine," He says quietly. 

"Snow?"

"No, it's nothing. Really.  _ Fuck _ I'm sorry, here—" 

Surely he wasn't going to… 

I bend down and pick it up, but he snatches it out of my grip with his good hand. 

... _ was  _ he going to?

  
  


**Simon **

I've no idea what to do.

I've ruined our entire night. Like always. He isn't going to want to marry me now, since I've just made a complete twat of myself by landing myself in a cast. Since we've just spent  _ six hours  _ at hospital. 

I can't propose right now. It isn't perfect. It isn't romantic. It isn't what Baz deserves. 

I've got the ring box in my hand, and we're both staring down at it. His face is unreadable right now, eyes narrowed and focused on the box.

There's a good minute or two of silence, before—

"Snow, were you going to…?"

I can't propose to him right now, but I'm probably going to have to. He isn't stupid, not by any means, so there's no way he hasn't figured out what's inside the box I hold in my hand. 

I clear my throat. "Yeah. I was. But I went and I fucked up our whole evening, and I'm really sorry. So, uh, you don't gotta say yes or anything. If this wasn't your idea of a proposal." 

Baz blinks. He looks totally, utterly gobsmacked, which I feel strangely proud of. It's hard to make Baz Pitch look like he does right now—all speechless and unsure of what to do next. He's still gorgeous though, even like this. It makes me want to kiss him. 

Now isn't really the time for that, though. I'm probably about to get turned down by the love of my fucking life. Not much room for kissing in situations like that.

"You we're going to ask me to marry you?" Baz asks, disbelieving. 

"Yeah."

"...are you still asking?" 

"Fuck, d'ya want me to? This isn't really what I had planned," I feel panicky. Does he want me to ask him? Like, right now? He's in pyjamas and I'm my pants and an oversized jumper. This isn't exactly heart stoppingly romantic, is it?

"Simon. Ask me." 

"To marry you?"

" _ Yes. _ "

"Oh! Uh, right then," I say. I guess we're doing this now, then. I get down on one knee in front of him, and clear my voice, unsure of myself. At least I can give my speech. 

"Baz, I've not really had a very happy life. I've been through a lot—we both have—but these last five years with you have been incredible. I'd go through every hardship again and again if it meant getting to be with you. I know our relationship started out rocky. I know we fight all the time, but I wouldn't want it any other way. 

"You make me happy. And I—uh," I laugh a bit, trying my hardest not to cry. "I'd like to make you really happy to. For the r-rest of my life. Believe me when I tell you that I had planned tonight for a long time, and that I  _ will _ make it up to you at some point. Promise. Because it's what you deserve." 

He's crying now. And smiling. And looking gorgeous as ever. 

"You deserve everything in the fucking universe, Baz Pitch, and I want you to have it. I want to give you every star in the sky. But, uh, I can't really do that. But I  _ can  _ stick with you until the day I die, if you let me. So what do you say? Will you marry me?" 

"Simon," he says. 

"Yeah?"

" _ Simon,"  _ he smiles, his cheeks streaked with tears. "You fucking nightmare, of  _ course.  _ Yes, I'll marry you." 

I stand and take him into my arms, careful not to bump my injured hand, and kiss him. Or, I try to. It's a little difficult—he's giggling right now. He's so hysterical with it, he can't even form a kiss with his mouth. I'm not much better off. 

I never thought I'd get this far. 

I almost don't care that my big romantic gesture didn't go as planned. All that matters to me right now is that we're  _ going to be married.  _ That he said  _ yes. _

Aleister Crowley, I'm living a charmed life.

**Author's Note:**

> A smooth proposal??? With THESE two idiots??? Not likely


End file.
